


Shy

by minniemoments



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Body Appreciation, First Kiss, First Time, Handprint Kink, Insecure Castiel, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:38:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1310128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minniemoments/pseuds/minniemoments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean struggles to cope with his emotions after Castiel kisses him. He later comes to terms with the act.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Kiss

It was different now. The dynamic had shifted slightly, ever so slightly, but enough. Enough for the hunter to take notice of how his heart sped up at a touch from the angel or how engrossed he was by those blue eyes. Dean couldn’t pinpoint when it happened or what triggered it. His reactions were not the part that worried him. No, what worried Dean, was what their relationship was shifting to. Cas was like a drug, new and enigmatic - an angel, one that saw worth in him. Dean took another swig of beer before setting the bottle back down on the little wooden table. He wanted an escape from all of these thoughts. Just drown it out for once. Sam had gone out for some grub about an hour ago. He should be back by now. Dean dug out his phone, flipping it open to call. No answer. “Damn it.” He vaguely remembered something about Sam mentioning how they were low on cash. Most likely went out to hustle some pool, maybe play some cards. The hunter relaxed back in the chair, finishing off the bottle.

With nothing else to do, Dean went to watch TV. He surfed channels with little interest in what appeared until he saw a familiar face, Dr. Sexy. His eyes glinted mischievously, taking a guilty pleasure in the soap opera. Fortunately, it was a marathon. 

The Winchester was completely absorbed after a few episodes, focusing only on the show. There was a change in the air though. Someone else in the dingy little room. Dean whipped his head around to look at the intruder, body tensed, hand on the gun he kept on him. “Cas?” said Dean, bewildered, the tension leaving his shoulders, hand relaxed. Something caught the angel’s attention. Baffled, and a bit irritated at being ignored, he followed the angel’s eyes. The show was still on. The hunter shut off the TV as if protecting some precious gem from onlookers. “What do you want, Cas? What’s up?” he asked in a tired voice. Castiel was just about the last person Dean was interested in seeing now with everything muddled between them. Rather than reply, Cas flicked the TV back on, taking up residence beside Dean on the couch. He leaned forward on his elbows, brow furrowed, face analytical. Dean sighed, giving up any attempts to discern why the angel decided to appear.

***

“Dean?”  
“Yeah, Cas?”  
“Why is Dr. Sexy kissing that woman? He does not know her.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. A cough, an unnecessary ahem. The angel waited patiently. “Well, ya know, he thinks she’s hot, so he kissed her.” Dean averted his eyes, not really sure why this was bothering him. That feeling was coming back. That change in heartbeat. That feeling that they were suddenly too close. After a prolonged, rigid moment, Castiel nodded in affirmation. Dean exhaled sharply, glad that the explanation seemed to suffice. 

Without warning, the angel drew close, his face mere inches from Dean’s, then closed the distance. It was hardly a peck really, but it caught him off guard, the shock stilling him. When Cas pulled away, he was met with a horrified hunter. The angel disappeared wordlessly, as abruptly as he came, seconds before the lock on the door clicked. 

Sam was greeted with a shell-shocked Dean, his breath coming in shallow little breaths. He looked curiously at his brother, placing his things down on the table. “What’s with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He chuckled at his own wit. Nothing. His face scrunched in confusion. Sam strode over to Dean. He examined his brother for anything out of the ordinary while Dean sat perfectly still, face agape. A few snaps did nothing to wake him out of his trance. Out of ideas, Sam slapped him. For his troubles, he received a punch on the shoulder and an irritated Dean.

“What the hell was that?” Dean scowled and rubbed his now red cheek.  
“Only thing I could think of. Worked, didn’t it?” A smirk on Sam’s face. “What happened? You looked pretty out of it, man.”  
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it. You get the pie?” 

Sam rolled his eyes and handed it to him. Dean bit into the pastry, hungrily, wanting to avoid any questions. He wouldn’t be able to answer them anyway. Sam still had that look of suspicion on his face, but dropped it for tonight.

***

The next few days are bad. Everything is jumbled and confused, and just bad. That kiss staying at the forefront of Dean’s mind. Touches, unwelcome. Moods, sour. Just out of it. Doesn’t want to deal with what happened, the consequences and all that comes with it. Dealing with it, addressing it, means accepting. And Dean will be damned if he fucking accepts whatever it was. Usually, driving the Impala - listening to the engine purr, feeling the wind, watching as the road fades and then grows - helps. Gives an escape, a getaway, from all the shit thrown his way. Instead, it’s torturous. To be left alone with all of these thoughts and doubts and wonderings. 

Sam has been wise enough to leave him alone so far, but now? He’s staring. Eyes examining body language, facial expressions, anything for some semblance of information. Dean keeps his eyes on the road, turning the music up louder. He tries to focus on the lyrics rather than how heavy Sam’s gaze felt.

“Dean.”  
“Yeah, what’s up, Sammy?” eyes still glued to the road, voice gruff.  
“You gonna tell me?”  
An exasperated sigh.  
“Dean. I can’t help if I don’t know what happened. Just talk to me.”  
“Not everything is your goddamn business,” frustration from everything and nothing adding a bite to his words. His face, body, reflecting his feelings - knuckles white on the wheel, shoulders tensed, jaw clenched.

A few minutes passed, only Aerosmith filling the empty space. Maybe his words were too harsh, maybe they weren’t harsh enough. Either way, Dean couldn’t be bothered by it. Thankful for their effect yet only further embittered by how much it has affected him. That kiss, just a brief touching of the lips. Meaningless, but so much meaning. Something so simple that put everything just a little off-centered. What was it? Curiosity? A misunderstanding? A mistake? A mistake without a doubt. Whatever that angel meant, it didn’t matter. Deans Winchester does not swing that way. The best thing to do at this point is to set everything straight. Give a firm no. No talking, no discussion. They’ll just pretend it never happened. Things would go back to normal.

“Take that next exit.”   
A nod of consent. Dean too engrossed in his thoughts to talk again.

***

It took 2 fucking hours to get to the motel. Damn dirt-water town. The room was a bit better than some of the other ones they’ve been in. Sparse furnishings, but clean. Sam set their things down.

“You want the first shower?”  
“You go. I’ll take one in the morning.”

A little perplexed look from Sam, but whatever he was going to say, he kept to himself. Dean stripped down to a shirt and his boxers before climbing into bed. The mattress forgiving and relaxing. The hunter fell asleep within minutes, exhaustion over taking him.


	2. Coming to Terms

They go through the day silently. Cordial, but cold. It’s a routine. Dean will bring the food, Sam does the research. They joke around a bit, find a case. Whatever it takes to distract. To normalize. A little dance and song, an act. Yeah, they might smile at each other, but it’s the little things. The absent shoulder tap. The lack of bickering. The sudden “tiredness” that sweeps over them after all other things have been done. It’s maddening for both of them, but right now? Necessary.

“I’m going out. Don’t wait up,” says Sam before grabbing his coat and the keys. Then he’s out the door. Normally, Dean might ask where. Make sure Sam has his cellphone. At this point, Dean’s just glad for the solitude.

A beer here. A beer there. His drinking always worsened during these times, this routine of theirs. It’s Dean’s third beer and he can’t help but think about it. Before it was just odd, now it’s a jigsaw puzzle composed of pieces from different pictures. Whenever he’s close to figuring it out, another piece from another box appears and fucks it up. Dean reasons that the angel misunderstood. That he didn’t really grasp the repercussions of such an act. Then that foreign piece fucks it up. When Dean stops thinking about all of the things that were wrong, but all of the things that were right. The softness of the angel’s lips. The coolness of his breath. The tingling sensation, one he can still remember. All of the little details that made him think, that maybe, maybe, it was something good.

It’s dangerous territory. Unknown, unclear. When Dean’s mind wanders there, that’s what drives him back to the bottle. The slight burning feeling, the bitter taste, a wake-up call to bring him back to reality - where it was, is, an unwanted thing. That amber colored liquid grounded him, supported him, stopped him from letting his mind... drift.  
“Dean?”

The hunter stilled. Face, hard. Breath, bated. He downed all of the remaining beer before setting it on the table.

“What. Do. You. Want?” Voice devoid of kindness. The words stung.  
“You called me,” the angel slightly taken aback by his disposition, but otherwise stoic.  
“The hell I did!” A growl in the statement.  
“Not verbally perhaps, but your thoughts were almost ear-splitting.”  
“Sorry I couldn’t be as quiet as you’d like,” tone mocking.  
“What were you thinking?” asked Castiel after a pause, curious.

Dean debated telling him for a moment, but the part of him that yes eventually won out.   
“It. The kiss.”

The angel’s demeanor changed, almost imperceptibly. His shoulders a bit less relaxed, his face slightly more guarded, his eyes not fully keeping eye contact anymore.  
“Look, I don’t know what the hell happened that night. What triggered that unfortunate little accident. But here’s what I do know: whatever you meant or thought, just don’t. No to whatever you thought, imagined, wanted. Just - no. I don’t like guys like that, never will, so no,” stated Dean in the most straightforward way he could manage. The words came out terse, firm.

For a moment, Dean thought the angel didn’t register. He stood there for a moment. His face showed nothing, masked to the hunter.   
“I understand.”

And with that, he left.

***

16 days. 2 weeks, 2 days. That’s how long ago Dean saw Castiel. That’s how long ago Dean told him no. The first few days, Dean felt relieved. Everything was back to normal. The fragmented pieces of his life were back in their place. It wasn’t the best fit, but it gave him peace. The fourth day. That’s when it started again. That feeling from before. When he felt just a bit more excited at the prospect of Cas showing up. Just a bit more disappointed when he didn’t. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. It felt like an itch that he couldn’t scratch; a piece that had no place in his little world. Sex did nothing to sate it. Alcohol did nothing to drown it. It was a stubborn little devil.

Sam had given up on trying to ascertain what was going on, cataloging it under the same category with Dean’s time in hell - the things that weren’t to be mentioned. It’s not a routine. The way they behave. It’s worse than that. Just two people sharing a space. Dean hates it. Whenever Sam starts to act distant. Reminds him of the times when Sam was at Stanford and Dean was marching around like John’s good little soldier. Admittedly, it is Dean’s fault, but how does someone tell how this one little, miniscule thing has managed to upset the balance?

And just like that, Dean is back at square one. All of those “what ifs” plague his mind. Like what if he said something the first time? Or what if he wasn’t so quick to say no? And what if he wanted to take that no back?

***

Sam’s gone out. Again. Dean is drinking. Again. It’s ironic. The setup is the same, just like the first time and the second time. Dean laughed mirthlessly. He’s given up on expecting the angel back any time soon, so wouldn’t it be about a bitch if he showed up this time? Even after all of those days of worrying and analyzing and sulking, everything is still a muddled mess. More so. Now Dean doesn’t know what to do or what he wants. No, that’s not true. He does want one thing: Cas. Just to see him, reassure him that things are okay. That they’re still friends.

By some fucked up chance, it happens. Cas appears right before his eyes. They don’t say anything to each other. Dean’s face softens. It’s weird, like he hasn’t seen the angel in an eternity, but, at the same time, like he saw him only seconds ago. The hunter stands, reaches out a tentative hand, falters, but ends up letting it land on the angel’s shoulder. He steps closer, body going into autopilot. Castiel tenses, a hint of apprehension in his eyes. Their foreheads are touching before Dean realizes how close he’s gotten. 

His breath comes out in short warm puffs of air. He should be freaking out right now, recoiling from the angel, apologizing for the invasion of personal space. But he’s not. Somewhere, deep down, in the back of his mind, Dean just knows that this is right. He can’t understand it. Doesn’t want to understand it, doesn’t want to ruin it.

He finally brings his eyes up to Castiel’s. Those blue eyes, an ocean that washes away any inhibitions, any doubts, Dean had. He closes the distance between them, placing a chaste kiss on the angel’s lips. Just like he remembers - soft, slightly chapped, scruff tickling his face, and that tingling sensation. A wave of understanding washes over him. This is what he’s wanted, needed, craved. So he does it again, another little peck. And again, and again, and again, until the spaces in between get smaller and smaller until eventually he just stays, not able to bear leaving those lips. The kiss turns hungry, needy. His hand intertwines itself in the angel’s hair, giving him more leverage. His tongue runs over Cas’s bottom lip, seeking entrance. Dean needs more, so much more. Castiel obligingly opens his mouth and it’s a clash of tongues, fighting for dominance. It’s intoxicating. The angel’s scent surrounding him, soothing him, igniting him.

Cas is moaning into the kiss, and god, Dean wants to hear that sound again, loving the loss of control, loving that he’s the cause of it. Wants to lose himself in that sound. He moves the hand resting on the angel’s shoulder to wrap around his waist, pushing their bodies flush together. Dean’s half hard already, can feel Cas through their clothes, loves that feeling, but needs more. He walks them toward the bed, Castiel hitting the mattress with Dean falling atop him, the jolt breaking their kiss. 

Dean pauses for a moment, taking in the angel’s features - hair tousled, lips parted breathlessly, eyes darkened with lust. In their temporary break, Dean slows down.  
“Is this okay?” The question sounds so small, barely above a whisper. No matter how much Dean wants Cas right now, this has to be okay. He needs it to be okay.  
“Yes,” the word floating on a breath.

So simple. Just like the kiss, that first one, the one that brought them here. So much meaning in it. And with that, Dean receives all of the approval he needs. He plants kisses all over Cas’s face - his forehead, nose, cheeks, closed eyelids, his lips. Doesn’t linger, just keeps heading south. Little pecks on his jawline, down his neck. He stumbles upon a spot where the angel’s neck and shoulder meet, meriting another moan, low and sensual, and so fucking good. He stays in that spot, nipping and sucking a bruise there. Wants to mark him like Cas marked him. He moves on again, licking a stripe from that little spot up to the angel’s Adam’s apple, latching on, tongue flicking out for a taste, licking. The little sounds that Cas is making coming in a steady stream, sounds so good. Dean needs more, wants more. Can’t get enough of the angel.

The hunter slips a hand under the hem of his shirt, fingers ghosting over the skin there. Sensing the Winchester’s motives, Cas makes a motion to start removing his shirt before Dean stops him, using his free hand to pin the angel’s hands above him.  
“Let me,” growled Dean.

Dean’s voice, so possessive, so lustful, sends blood south, straight to his cock. Castiel groaned in response. His hands are all over Cas, working deftly to remove his multitude of layers. First the coat, then his tie, and then his shirt. Dean can’t help but stare, biting his lower lip to suppress a moan. His nipples hardened peaks, flat abdomen, hair sprinkled across his chest, travelling downward, below his navel.  
“Beautiful,” the only word Dean could manage.

Cas turned his face away at the compliment. He wanted to taste that skin. The Winchester resumed his ministrations, placing feather light kisses on the angel’s torso, running his hands up Castiel’s sides, fingers feeling rough and calloused, but good. Lingered at his nipples, licking one of them before biting down, hard. A whimper. Dean smiles up at the angel before taking the little peak into his mouth, sucking on it while one hand came up to pinch the other. Little whimpers and whines pouring from Cas’s lips. More. Needs so much more.

Dean does the same thing for the other, rolling it between his teeth before flicking his tongue out. It was too much, too little. Too much teasing, too little action. Cas was now fully hard, pants too constricting. His hips thrust up into Dean’s, the contact pleasurable. The two men groaned at the little brush, wanting more. Dean abandoned his previous work instead working to remove the rest of their clothing.

Then everything stopped. Cas’s hands preventing him from taking off the angel’s trousers.  
“I - I’m not a female, Dean,” said Castiel quietly, avoiding any eye contact.  
Dean looked at Cas like he’d lost his marbles. Eyebrows knitted together, a puzzled look on his face. Such a ridiculous statement. Dean sat back on his haunches.  
“Yeah, I get that.”  
“No, I mean I’m a male, Dean,” voice soft.  
As if those words were any less obvious. What was Cas even trying to achieve with this? Not like this wasn’t already known information here...  
“Oh...” Dean breathed out as realization hit him. Previous words ringing in his ears. I don’t like guys like that, never will. 

Castiel’s face fell, sensing disapproval. His blue eyes clouded with fear and doubt. It was such a blatant display of emotion, so starkly different from his usual impassive mask. It made Dean’s stomach twist, knowing that he put that there. He cupped the angel’s face before leaning down for a tender kiss, wiping away a tear with his thumb. He pulled away.  
“I want you for you, all of you,” Dean whispered in his ear.  
“Even as a...?” The shaking in his voice stopped him from finishing.  
“Especially.”

Dean licked the shell of his ear before going back to the task at hand. Buckle, buttons, and zippers undone. In one fluid movement, he pulled off the angel’s pants and briefs, cock springing free, curving into the angel’s navel. Dean couldn’t stop himself from groaning at the sight. Cas exposed, so innocent, so beautiful. His cock dripping precum, head an angry red. Hip bones jutting out. Fine hairs on his toned legs. That desire came back, quick and sudden, all consuming. That need to taste and mark and touch. Dean quickly shed his own clothing, needing to feel that skin on skin contact. 

Cas was staring. Couldn’t pull his eyes away. Knew he should, but just couldn’t. The sharp lines of the hunter, broad shoulders, muscles rippling everywhere. So completely different from his own body. He was fascinated. The anti-possession tattoo stamped on his chest. His hand-print, brazenly on Dean’s bicep. He ghosted his fingers over the red area. This earned him a moan, low and deep. The hunter’s head rolling back in pleasure. Seeing this as approval, Castiel fitted his hand over the hand-print experimentally. The feeling was unique. Pleasurable, sensual, electric, warming, just good.

Dean loved how Cas’s hand felt there. Didn’t want it to stop, but it only increased his need. Needed to touch more, feel more, just more of Cas. His thumbs running over the angel’s hip bones, the sharpness of them feeling good. Need to taste. Licking and sucking, tongue laving over the bones. Those sounds came back again. Those little whimpers and low moans that sent waves of pleasure throughout his body. Hands rubbing on Cas’s inner thighs, soothing, massaging, teasing.

Cas’s hips bucked up again, searching for friction, finding none. A whine escaped his lips.  
“Dean, please.”  
Kisses along the angel’s thighs, on either hip, but still avoiding his cock.  
“Please,” Cas’s voice so needy with desire. He bucked his hips again when Dean got closer.  
“Please, what?”  
“Touch it.”  
With a smirk, Dean gripped the angel’s cock, then began stroking it. Cas moaning and thrusting into his hand, asking for more and more and more. The Winchester brought his mouth close, letting warm breath tease the head.  
“Mmhhmmm.”

He gave it a lick, just under the head, unraveling that bundle of nerves. A low groan of approval from Cas. Without warning, Dean engulfs his length, hollowing out his cheeks. He bobs his head up and down, looking up at the angel.  
“So good... More, yeah... Please...”

It’s enough to make Castiel climax. Dean starts humming against his cock, pausing at that spot just under his head. Can’t stop the obscene sounds that are pouring from his lips. It feels so good, Dean’s mouth, warm and wet, around him. It’s all Cas can do to not just fuck into him. Watch his cock disappear behind those lips while those green eyes stare into his.

“So close...” moans the angel.

Rather than pulling off, Dean doubled his efforts, taking in the angel’s entire length, moaning, sending vibrations of pleasure up and down his cock. Once Cas feels himself hit the back of Dean’s throat, he’s coming, hard, moaning Dean’s name. The hunter swallows it all, careful not to let any of it dribble, before pulling off, giving one last lick. Vision blacking out, pleasure sweeping over him, everything sensitive.

It takes Cas a few minutes to come down off his high, body still jerking through the aftershocks. He groans again once he stills. Breath coming in shallow. 

The sight of Cas: the quick fall and rise of his chest, the way his legs clenched together, his head pushed against the pillows - mouth forming an “O”, eyelids fluttering over lust filled eyes. And the sounds, his name when Cas came, that low groan. It was too much. Dean came, moaning Cas’s name, untouched, before collapsing next to the angel. Over and over, mumbling Cas’s name. A wave of tired content overtook the hunter. Dean pulled the covers over them, spooning the angel - his front pressed into Castiel’s back. With that, the two fell asleep, cuddled together.


End file.
